Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala
by Moonlit Tiger Lily
Summary: As if N.E.W.T.s, romance and the losses of Sirius and Dumbledore weren't enough Harry's got to destroy the four remaining horcruxes. The prophecy must be fulfilled, but Harry can't do it without the strength and loyalty of his friends. HPGW RWHG
1. Number Four Privet Drive

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in part or in whole. All the credit goes to J. K. Rowling. I'm just playing in her imagination. I've even quoted some of her material. (This goes for the whole story, it will not reappear.)

Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala

Chapter One

Number 4 Privet Drive

Harry lay on his bed dozing in the humidity of the late-June evening. Hedwig hooted concernedly from the paper-strewn desk. Harry had never been so determined as he had been this summer. He neither ate nor slept as often as a young man should be expected to have done. His room was a wreck, with piles of books and newspaper clippings littering every surface and often overflowing onto the floor. A tattered calendar hung on the wall. The numbers that usually counted the days until his return to Hogwarts now labelled the time remaining until his seventeenth birthday.

Hermione had tried to straighten the mess on several occasions, but Harry could not find it in himself to care about cleanliness and Ron couldn't either. The room was small to begin with, but with two more beds added there was barely room to walk. Hermione somehow managed to keep her possessions organised although she was living out of a trunk. Harry glanced to his left and saw her lying peacefully in her bed. She had kicked the light blanket she used partially off and her leg was hanging over the side of the bed, exposing the fabric of her pyjamas. She slept on her left side with her back to him in order to block out the lamp light.

Ron, on the other hand, slept on his back with the crook of his arm over his eyes. Harry's bed separated those of his two friends, but there was scarcely enough room to stand on either side. A fitful sleeper, Ron had kicked the blanket off the bed entirely and his pillow lay unused at his feet. Much to his protests, the beginnings of a Transfiguration essay lay on the desk amid the clippings Harry had scattered there. Hermione had long since finished with her homework and had put it in her trunk away from Ron's eyes. Harry's ginger haired mate had ignored Hermione's efforts to convince him of starting his homework for over two weeks, but there was little they could do at the Dursleys' and boredom, coupled with a bossy friend, had persuaded him to start early.

Harry, on the other hand, had no intention of doing his schoolwork. He had made it clear to his friends that he would not be returning to Hogwarts whether or not they opened the doors. How could he justify wasting another year in school when people were dying at Voldemort's hands? He alone had the power to end this war. There was no reason for him to return to Hogwarts. He planned on visiting Godric's Hollow after the wedding. Perhaps he would find something before school started once more. Hermione and Ron had said they would go with him to Godric's Hollow; they had promised to accompany him to the Dursleys', but he could not ask them to sacrifice their education.

The feeble light from the lamp on the bedside table illuminated the book threatening to fall out of his sleep-relaxed hands. His thumb held the book open to chapter twelve.

**Horcruxes**

_In an attempt to achieve his lifelong aspirations of immortality, Nicholas Flamel devised the Horcrux. Essentially a tearing of the soul, this process is very dangerous and was never implemented by the notable creator of the Philosopher's Stone. The only known method of tearing one's soul is to commit a murder. Flamel was unwilling to make such a sacrifice and his lack of initiative set the progress of this efficient method of survival back several centuries. Many tried unsuccessfully to sever their soul for years and many such attempts were fatal. In 1637, Andrew Hamm became the first to successfully create a Horcrux. However, due to the nature of Horcruxes, Hamm was tried for several counts of homicide and sentenced to death. His punishment was implemented eight times before it was successful, only because Hamm's eyeglasses (into which he had ignorantly stored a piece of his soul) were shattered._

_Horcruxes are difficult to identify at best due to the versatility of the magic. Anything and anyone could be made to contain a part the human soul. The use of living organisms such as plants, animals and humans is inadvisable as the soul will be destroyed when the organism dies. Suggested objects for use_

The chapter continued on the next page. On the bedside table sat an expensive piece of parchment that had been delivered by a Goldfinch. Stars twinkled on the border and a picture of Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley headed the invitation. Fleur appeared to be preening in a mirror while Bill watched her adoringly. With flowing cursive written in blue ink the invitation read:

_Mr. and Mrs. Delacour  
request the honour of your presence  
at the marriage of their daughter  
Fleur Clarabelle Delacour  
to  
William Patrick Weasley  
on the sixth of July  
at ten o' clock in the morning  
Chateau de Vayres  
Bordeaux, France_

After several minutes the English words would fade to French. Partially hidden underneath was a letter delivered by owl the same day.

_Ron, Harry and Hermione,  
I hope things are well. Let me know if the Muggles are treating you poorly and if you are getting enough to eat. I expect you have received the invitation to Bill's wedding by now. We will be coming to pick you up on the first of July. Please be ready to leave at three o' clock. You will, I dare say, be spending the rest of the holidays at the Burrow. I've written a letter to the Dursleys to let them know. Stay safe and don't leave the house.  
Molly Weasley_

Indeed Uncle Vernon had received Mrs. Weasley's letter two days previously. As the letter looked completely average, the Dursleys could find nothing to complain about except for the Weasleys' "inconsiderate behaviour" and evident "lack of proper manners".

"You would think," said Uncle Vernon as he threw the torn letter into the rubbish bin, "that they would consider us before making such arrangements. They act as though we can move our schedules about at the drop of a hat."

"You didn't have any plans," Harry had pointed out as he scrubbed the counter top. His arms were exhausted and the kitchen was spotless. His stomach growled in protest as the Dursleys sat down to lunch. Aunt Petunia had insisted that Harry earn keep not only for himself, but for Ron and Hermione. It had been quite a fight indeed when two fully grown wizards and one witch had shown up on the doorstep of number four Privet Drive.

Eventually, it was Petunia who had, unexpectedly, said they could stay. She had been quiet and distracted when she told her husband they would spend the holidays. Vernon, however, had put his foot down when he said Ron and Hermione would not be permitted to leave the bedroom. They had been sneaking out at night to shower and to take food from the kitchen, but otherwise they had been all too happy to stay out of the way of Harry's relatives.

"Quiet, boy," Vernon ordered.

"They act as though he can come and go as he pleases. They don't even ask if we mind his leaving," Petunia joined in. If there was anything she enjoyed more than gossip, it was badgering others.

"It's as if we weren't his legal guardians. We take him in, feed him and clothe him and this is the thanks we get. His ruddy parents got themselves killed and stuck us with-"

"Don't talk about my parents that way!" Harry fumed. His green eyes narrowed in fury and the Dursleys were forcibly reminded that Harry would legally be an adult in the Wizarding community in a month's time.

"I'll tell you this, boy," Vernon said pulling his enormous bulk to its full height, which was now a full six inches below Harry. "You will never be welcome in this house again."

Harry had not lamented Uncle Vernon's statement in the slightest. In fact, he nearly felt giddy at the prospect of never returning to number four Privet drive. He had shut himself in his room since the letter's arrival leaving only for the necessities of the bathroom. He ate very little, but when he did, leftover Cauldron Cakes and Chocolate Frogs sustained him.

* * *

The sixth month died as Harry's book slid to the floor with a dull thud, jarring Harry from a restless sleep. His eyes registered the glowing numerals reading 12:00 although his glasses sat crookedly on his face. He took them off grudgingly and switched the light off with a resounding click. Now that he lay in bed properly, with his hands behind his head, sleep evaded him. He stared at the ceiling trying to focus his thoughts.

_the locket…the cup… the snake…something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's…_

His mind slid out of focus. A flowery smell seemed filled the room as his thoughts turned to Ginny.

'_It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?'_ Her quiet voice echoed in the silence. Pain gripped his heart and his stomach clenched. Noble? He supposed so. Stupid? He definitely felt it. Looking back, Harry couldn't think of why he had done it. He knew breaking up with Ginny was the right thing to do; it was for her own good. So, if it was the right decision, why did he feel like he had made the biggest mistake of his life?

Sighing in defeat, he opened the drawer of the tiny bedside table and pulled out a worn letter. Truthfully, it was more like a scrap of paper, but he had read it so often that he needn't put on his glasses. He had memorized it, though the feel of the parchment made it so much more tangible.

_Harry,  
I never gave up on you and I never will.  
Ginny_

It seemed so like her to fit everything into one sentence. She had written so little, yet it said so much. She hadn't cried that day by the lake, but with a groan of frustration he realised there was no doubt he had made her shed more than her fair share of tears. Was this really the right thing to do? He let his hands drop to his chest. Even the smell of the letter reminded him of her.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I'll see her.

In merely fifteen hours he would be leaving Privet Drive forever, but he wasn't entirely convinced it was such a good idea. Could he stand to see her after what had happened? Could he bear to stand by his decision when, even now, he was desperately clinging to a piece of paper? The truth was that he loved her. He had felt normal, even euphoric, when she had been a part of his life. All there had been was the two of them, heedlessly absorbed in each other while the world came crashing down around him.

Harry wanted nothing more than Ginny's safety. If they were together she would become a target. Her life would be in danger. He had to protect her above all, but how could he when it meant causing the both of them such heartache? He gritted his jaw as he resolved himself to the facts. He had to do this and that was all there was to it. For her safety, he had to distance himself from Ginny.

He was reminded of his second year at Hogwarts. Voldemort had used her. He had used Ginny to get to Harry before there was anything between them. He would get to her whether Harry distanced himself or not, so wasn't it better to be close to her? Wasn't it better to be there to protect her if and when something happened?

Turning the light back on resignedly, Harry picked his book off the floor and turned the page.

_are virtually indestructible, unidentifiable and well protected such as museum artefacts. Metal is preferable, since it is harder to destroy. It is advisable to use antiques or objects that anyone would consider to have value as anyone would be willing to protect such an object._

**Identifying a Horcrux**

_The identification of a Horcrux is extremely difficult even for the most skilled of wizards. When a soul is intact, it emits a very distinct aura. However, the piece of a soul required to make a Horcrux is so small it often can be overlooked. The highly trained observer can spot a soul by the faint blue glow surrounding an object. Suggested means of training oneself to see a soul are frequenting a place where souls are often detached from the body. A hospital or graveyard would be the most accessible. However, if possible, the best means of seeing a soul is to witness a dementor's kiss (see illustration)._

Much of the page was taken up with a picture of a dementor sucking the soul out of the mouth of a man in chains. The man resisted at first but slowly stopped struggling and was dropped to the floor only to start the entire process again.

_When a dementor performs the kiss, the soul is clearly visible to those witnessing. The soul is taken through the mouth. Because it is taken forcibly, the soul retains its energy and, therefore, is much more visible. This method is preferable to visiting a hospital or a graveyard because a soul tends to lose its energy if it leaves the body after death. When death is accepted beforehand the soul becomes less visible._

Though it was full of information and was therefore very useful, Harry could not seem to focus on the book. His eyelids began to droop once more and the book slipped in his hand. Slowly, everything faded to black and Harry's breathing evened out. The smell of mould and doxy droppings filled the air. A room formed around him. Moth eaten curtains adorned a rather shabby room. The desk against the wall shook menacingly.

"It means he gave them a load of gold," Sirius was saying as he threw the medal into the rubbish sack. A music box played an ominous tune that seemed to envelop the whole room. Sirius had kicked Kreacher out and the house elf was wailing as he opened the drawing room door. "It was my father's," Sirius said as he threw a large gold ring away. "Kreacher wasn't quite as devoted to him as my mother, but…"

Harry woke as suddenly as if someone had just thrown ice-cold water on him. There was a good deal of noise coming from across the hall. It sounded as if Dudley was watching an action film. Ron and Hermione were gathering their things quietly. Harry lay back down with a sigh. He hadn't gotten over Sirius' death and now he had to deal with Dumbledore. He was having dreams nearly every night. Perhaps that was why he hadn't been sleeping very often. He threw his book onto the other side of the small bed and rolled onto his side. His eyes fluttered open before widening with shock. In a mere thirty minutes, the Weasleys would arrive to pick him up.

"Why didn't you wake me?" Harry cried as jumped out of bed and began hastily throwing clothes, quills and newspapers into his trunk. Unfortunately, with all the books he had recently acquired there was not nearly enough room.

"You hardly slept all night," Hermione told him. "We were going to pack your trunk for you."

Harry didn't reply, but grabbed some clothes from the pile in the corner and, hoping they didn't smell too badly, ran to the bathroom. He hadn't seen Ginny in a month and he didn't want to smell like Grawp when he saw her again. A voice in the back of his head said that he shouldn't be concerned with impressing her, but he ignored it.

Harry brought three piles of books downstairs and placed them on the steps before dragging his trunk down. Ron and Hermione, with only one trunk each, followed after him. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were watching the news in the other room. Harry sat on the stairs to wait, but he had barely touched the step when there was a knock at the door. He stood hastily and said, "I'll answer it!" He had taken two steps toward the door when Uncle Vernon cut him off in the hallway.

"Like hell you will!" he exclaimed pointing an accusing finger at the three of them. "I don't want people to know that your kind is living here."

"It'll just be the Weasleys-" Harry began to say when Vernon opened the door.

"Good afternoon," Charlie said through gritted teeth as he stepped past Mr. Dursley. He had heard the comments and, needless to say, he had received a bad impression of the man before the door had even opened. Vernon frowned at his heavily freckled skin. "Hi," Charlie said more pleasantly to the three of them. "Is this all your stuff?

"Yes," Harry replied and bent to take his trunk. Fred and George, who had been standing in the doorway, walked in and picked up a stack of books each. Charlie grabbed the last remaining pile. He stood back as the twins went out to the car and motioned for Harry to go ahead of him.

"Well," said Harry nonchalantly. "See you later."

Uncle Vernon's moustache twitched. "You are not welcome here."

"Harry's your blood. I'll never understand how you can treat him like this!" Hermione burst.

"He's a freak!" Aunt Petunia burst out. "We fed him and clothed him, and what thanks did we get but a blown up Aunt Marge and a tail on our son!"

"You agreed to treat him like your own son when you took him in. From what I heard from Dumbledore it's lucky you didn't!" Ron stepped in.

Harry felt his heart sink as he was reminded of Dumbledore. Suddenly all he wanted was to get out of there as quickly as possible. "It's alright," he said to Charlie. "Let's just go."

Charlie nodded though he didn't break eye contact with Uncle Vernon until Harry was out the door. He closed the door behind him without another word.

They began walking down the street. Harry was lost in his thoughts. The pain of Sirius' and Dumbledore's deaths were enough to numb him. He didn't say a word, but Fred saw him look around when he noticed there didn't appear to be any type of transportation nearby.

"We're going to Mrs. Figg's house to use her fireplace," Fred said in answer to Harry's unasked question. Harry simply nodded. George, who was in the lead, opened the gate to Mrs. Figg's front garden. Cats scattered as they entered. Mrs. Figg opened the front door before anyone knocked.

"Come in, come in!" she said and ushered them in quickly. Her house was just as Harry remembered it: musty and full of cats. "Can I get you some tea? Biscuits?"

"No, no, thank you Arabella, but we really are in a hurry," Charlie answered. "Mum's going mad with the wedding plans. With You-Know-Who back she's going crazy if anyone's late."

"Of course, of course. Best hurry along then."

Charlie pulled out a small bag of Floo powder, which seemed a very difficult task what with the stack of books in his arms. Fred and George grabbed little more than a pinch before stepping into the fire together and shouting, "The Burrow!"

"Come on, Harry. We'll go together." They stepped up to the fire. Charlie threw the powder into the fire and they stepped in. "The Burrow!" Charlie called. Though Harry was quite used to travelling by the Floo Network, he felt as though Charlie was treating him like it was his first time. He knew Charlie only had his well-being in mind and he reasoned that Fred and George had travelled together, but he couldn't help but think that he was almost of age and they shouldn't be treating him like a child.

Harry pushed that all from his mind as he felt his feet hit solid ground once more. He immediately stepped out of the fire and into the Weasleys' sitting room. Suddenly his heart was racing as if he had run from Privet Drive. That flowery smell engulfed his senses, just as the memory of it had last night when he held the letter. His heart clenched and his stomach churned uncomfortably.

"Harry, dear!" Mrs. Weasley called as she came from the kitchen. "We're so glad you could make it. I trust the Muggles got the letter I sent."

"Yes. Did you… did you have help with that?" Every square inch of the first letter Mrs. Weasley had sent by Muggle post was covered in stamps. This past one was rather ordinary in comparison.

"Yes, Hermione prepared some envelopes and gave them to me when you got off the train at the beginning of the holidays. I was worried that you hadn't received it though. Muggle post is so inefficient. It takes so long to get there."

Harry and Hermione, being Muggle-raised and quite used to such remarks, shared a quiet smirk before Mrs. Weasley continued.

"You'll be sharing a room with Ron again this summer as Fred and George are staying with us again."

"Isn't business going well?" he asked, concernedly. It stood to reason that they might not be doing well what with Voldemort back. Last summer, the twins had stayed in the flat above Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"They're doing brilliantly, Harry." Ron said with a bit of jealousy. "They said something about not having to cook…"

"Ron, would you wash and peel the potatoes, please?" Mrs. Weasley was quite busy preparing dinner. Hermione began washing potatoes, handing them to Ron, who made a show of using his wand to peel and slice them. "We really should enlarge this kitchen," she muttered to herself. "Oh, Harry dear. You don't have to do that. Take a rest," she said sweetly as Harry began to pull down plates.

"It's all right. I want to help," he replied.

"Harry, You've set one place too many," Ron said as Harry began to pull out the silver.

"Who's missing?" he asked.

"Ginny," said Hermione quietly. "She's in France with Fleur getting ready for the wedding. In her letter she said that what with dress fittings, flower arrangements and ceremony practice they decided she should stay there. From what I hear, she and Gabrielle are getting along famously." Harry simultaneously felt his heart sink and his spirits lighten. He was looking forward to seeing her, but maybe it was better this way. After all, Ginny had sent the three of them letters while they stayed at Privet Drive. Harry's was only one sentence, Ron's was over a page and Hermione's could have been considered a small novel.

"Yes, Gabrielle's a sweet little thing," Mrs. Weasley said from the sink. "A bit thin though…"

"Ron, can you finish this?" Hermione asked as she set down a wet potato and dried her hands on a cloth. Without waiting for a reply, she led Harry into the yard. Everything in the kitchen went quiet and Harry had the feeling it was due to the fact that Ron and Mrs. Weasley were trying to listen in.

"What's going on with you and Ginny?" Hermione asked before he could utter a word. He averted his eyes before he answered.

"We broke up."

"Yes, I know that. What happened?"

"I did what I thought was best."

"Harry, if you don't like her anymore let her know. It is causing her more pain to be uncertain."

"That's not it. I can't lie to her."

"What is it then?" Hermione's voice was quiet. She wasn't trying to provoke him.

"I don't want her to get hurt, okay? Voldemort's tried to get to nearly everyone I care about now. I don't want her to be next. I…" his voice cracked and he struggled to control it. "I couldn't stand it if she got hurt because of me."

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione sighed empathetically. "You can't avoid something like this. Dumbledore said love is the only thing that can beat You-Know-Who. You can't bottle up your feelings."

"And what if he does try to use her to get to me?" he said, his voice rising more in fear and frustration than in anger. "How would you feel about me then?"

"Same as always, mate," said Ron. "We all know the risks of being friends with you. We're willing to risk it. On the other hand, if you hurt my sister again, I'm going to have to beat some sense into you. So make up your mind."

Harry forced a fleeting smile, but he wasn't entirely convinced. He could see the fear in their eyes.

* * *

He lay awake in bed that night trying to figure out what to do. He couldn't help but think that Mrs. Weasley was right. Dumbledore had said that love was the only thing Voldemort couldn't understand. It was how Lily Potter had protected him sixteen years ago. It was how he remained protected by returning to the Dursleys' house every year.

There was no doubt in his mind how he felt for Ginny. At the same time, he knew there was no way he could live with himself if she got hurt. Why was he treating her differently? He hadn't fought very hard when Ron and Hermione insisted on going with him. On the other hand, as much as he cared for them he didn't feel the same way about them as Ginny. Deep down, he knew that if any of them died he would feel that it was his fault.

The thing it came down to was trust. Did he trust Dumbledore's theory? Did he trust Ginny to stay as safe as possible? Did he trust her family to keep their word? Harry knew he had to beat Voldemort and to do that he had to use things Voldemort could not. He needed to use love, trust and honesty. Voldemort did not love anyone. He never trusted anyone completely. He gained power through lies and manipulation. He used people like you would use a hammer: use it, throw it away and pick it back up when you need it again.

If he pushed away everyone he cared about, whether his intentions were good or bad, Harry would be like his enemy. He rolled onto his side with his mind made up. Love was how Voldemort would fall. It was his weakness and Harry planned to exploit it. 'Keep your friends close…' went the saying. He had pushed Ginny aside, but he planned to remedy that.

* * *

A/N: Well, tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is VERY acceptable and so are compliments and ideas! 


	2. A Phlegmy Wedding

Author's Note: This chapter was written with the immense help of WebMistressGina and my betas Jamsel and SpaceHog. I couldn't have done it without her!

Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala

Chapter Two

A Phlegmy Wedding

Harry excused himself from dinner earlier than normal that night. He was tired of Mrs. Weasley's fussing over his size; he had lost a lot of weight since Dumbledore's death. He ignored the concerned look Hermione shot him as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood. He was painfully aware that everyone had stopped talking to fix their gazes on him the instant he had murmured, 'thank you for dinner. Good night.' They all paused with forks on the way to mouths or glasses halfway to being put back on the table. No one said a word until he had made it up the first flight of stairs, at which point low conversations broke out. In a matter of moments, however, things sounded as they had before he had stood and, for that, Harry was grateful.

Spending time with the Weasleys while they were laughing and having a good time only made it more obvious that the youngest of their number was missing. The Burrow without Ginny just wasn't right. It was a warm and inviting environment nonetheless, but it was not what it should have been; was not what he was used to. Harry had been unable to pretend everything was right while he was at dinner. He hadn't even tried to join in the conversation, though others encouraged him on several occasions. He had shoved peas and carrots around his plate and once in a while he had taken a small bite to give the appearance of eating. He doubted he had fooled anyone, but he couldn't will his body to eat. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't sleeping and he couldn't concentrate.

Harry found himself outside of Ginny's room as he walked up the stairs and he paused at the door. It was open wide enough for him to see inside, but not enough that it welcomed anyone inside. Pausing a moment, Harry pushed the door open, turned on the lamp and took a step inside. Immediately, the flowery scent invaded his senses and he closed his eyes for a moment to regain focus. Memories flooded his mind of the last time the scent had been so strong, of a long walk by the lakeside last year. That had been before Dumbledore had died, before things became so dire.

Hermione's things had been placed next to the bed by the window. The room was neat, but not orderly. Clothes were thrown in a basket in the corner and schoolbooks were piled precariously on the desk. On the bedside table, a quill and bottle of ink lay atop her diary. A picture of her and Harry sat beside the lamp. Walking into the room, Harry sat on Ginny's bed and picked up the picture. The two of them stood, each with an arm around the other, smiling and waving. They were standing by the lake, with rosy cheeks and gleaming eyes. They had been so happy.

The picture in one hand, Harry slumped down and rested his elbows on his knees. His forehead dropped into his free hand and his fingers threaded into his untidy hair. Clenching his jaw, Harry gritted his teeth as the backs of his eyes burned. He felt like he was caught between a pack of wolves and a precipice. Either decision he made concerning his relationship would be wrong. If they got back together, he would be putting her in danger. If he shoved her away he would be denying his heart. According to Dumbledore's philosophy, he would be casting aside his most valuable asset toward defeating Voldemort as well.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered as she gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and jerked away in surprise, dropping the picture to the ground. The glass cracked in two, right down the middle and the occupants of the picture screamed silently and parted to escape the danger. Harry let out one short, "ha," in response to the irony of the situation. He stared down at the picture of himself and Ginny. They hadn't let the crack separate them for long.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, quickly glancing at the picture he was staring at before looking at him. Concern was etched all over her face.

"I'm fine," Harry said, though even he didn't believe it. His jaw was set and his eyes were red. "I'm just going to go up to bed." He picked up the framed picture and placed it where he had found it; the crack in the glass highlighted by the lamp. He stepped around Hermione, who did not look at him. Rather she looked at nothing in particular as her brain worked. She turned quickly as Harry crossed the threshold.

"She hasn't given up on you," she said quietly.

Harry stopped where he was, his back toward her. His head was hanging a bit as he gazed unseeingly at a stain in the carpet. Without looking back at her or even moving in the slightest, he replied in an almost inaudible voice, "I know."

Hermione's brows knitted as she watched him walk to Ron's bedroom. As he disappeared from view, Hermione absentmindedly fished out her wand and waved it at the picture. The glass glued itself back together and made sounds like someone stepping on frozen grass as the crack vanished. She shoved her wand back into her pocket and let her hand drop to her side before sitting on the edge of her bed.

"What's wrong?" Ron asked. He stood in the doorway, his t-shirt pulling tightly over his chest as he raised an arm to rest on the doorway.

"It's Harry," Hermione explained. She looked as though she wanted to say more, but thought better of it. Ron, recognising her hesitation, left the doorway and sat next to her.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" He thought about it a moment before putting his arm loosely around her shoulder. She tensed a bit, both in surprise to the tenderness in his actions and words, but quickly became accustomed to both.

"I'm worried about him," she answered.

"He knows what he's doing," Ron told her. When he saw that she wasn't cheered by this he stood and took her hand in his. "You shouldn't worry about him so much. Come one, let's go downstairs. Mum's made a pudding." He pulled her to a standing position and toward the door lightly. Her mouth turned into a small smile as she followed him down the stairs.

xXxXx

Harry pulled a jumper over his head and righted his glasses. Grabbing a book in hopes of distraction, he sat on his bed and leaned against the headboard with his knees bent and the book propped up on them. It felt as if his brain and his heart were having a battle, in which the victor would determine the course of action Harry would take. What ever was going on inside his body, his stomach was suffering for it.

As Harry opened the cover of the book in his hand, _Immortality Through the Dark Arts_, it let out a cracking noise; it hadn't been opened in many years save for those recent occasions since it had come into Harry's possession. He flipped through the pages until he reached chapter twelve and searched for the place in which he had stopped reading the day before.

**Creating a Horcrux**

_The creation of a Horcrux can be very difficult. The severing of one's soul is dangerous and inadvisable. A soul is meant to stay intact and, should it be split, the subject will likely suffer depression, anger and violent tendencies._

_It will be necessary for the subject to become aware of his soul. There are several ways to accomplish this, but meditation is recommended. Through meditation a person may reach a state of dream-like consciousness. The topic is elaborated in chapter seventeen. Do not use sedating potions or spells when attempting this procedure._

_Once the subject is aware of his soul, he will be more able to manipulate it. Preparation is critical in this procedure. The subject must have premeditated the murder and would do well to commit said crime against someone from whom he would gain nothing other than the desired effect. When a person can justify a murder, however poorly, the severing of the piece of soul becomes more difficult and more painful. _

_The subject must commit the homicide himself in order for the procedure to be effective. Having knowledge of his soul, he should feel the tear. He will then point his wand at the desired object for containment and recite the incantation, _Postulo Animus. _The attempted transference should take place soon after the murder as the soul will otherwise repair itself before long. The allotted time is variable; it may be as little as a few minutes and so long as several weeks._

There was a knock at the door and Harry jolted in surprise. The door had already been open, but the gap widened as Charlie came to stand in the doorway. He filled out the frame of the door as he looked at Harry curiously. "Mum's made a pudding. Would you like to join us?"

"No, thank you," Harry replied. He furrowed his brow in a look of question when Charlie did not leave.

"What are you reading?" Charlie asked.

"I'm just doing a bit of research." Harry did not want any of the Weasleys to know that he had tens of books on magic for which he could possibly be arrested. As Charlie's eyes dropped to the stack of books near the door. Harry felt himself jump out of bed and place his book face down as he said hurriedly, "I think I would like some pudding, actually." Pushing Charlie out the door, Harry gave him a forced smile before heading down the stairs, not noticing the look of concern and suspicion on the elder Weasley's face. The Weasleys' kitchen was bursting with activity and laughing voices. Harry bowed his head and tried not to look miserable as he walked through the doorway.

xXxXx

Harry awoke the morning of July sixth when a very anxious Mrs. Weasley nearly burst into the room. Ron groaned and threw his pillow at the door. He and Harry had stayed up rather late talking with Hermione in Ginny's room. They had narrowly avoided being caught by Ron's mother, who quite possibly had not slept at all, in the hallway as they made their way to bed.

Harry tried to roll over and go back to sleep, but he was woken by Hermione. She was fully dressed and obviously ready to go. "Get up, Harry. We have to leave in an hour."

Harry leaned against the wall as he showered, wishing he could go back to sleep instead of facing the day. Whether or not he was ready, he would be seeing Ginny in a relatively short time. He had convinced himself that he would talk to her, apologise to her today, but his stomach clenched painfully at the thought of doing such.

Admitting defeat, Harry stepped out of the shower. He pressed a towel to his face for a moment, savouring the feel of the cool, soft fabric on his clean-shaven face before ruffling it over his hair and drying his body distractedly. Afterwards, Harry pulled on his clothes and ran a comb through his hair before putting on his glasses and assessing his reflection. He looked at his hair with scrutiny, it was fairly calm now, but when it was fully dry it would revert to its unruly state.

"Dreadful," the mirror said. Harry's lips thinned and he left the room without a word of reply. He met Ron and Hermione in the kitchen. Ron and George were playing a game of Exploding Snap at the table. Ron's ears and, in fact, his entire face went scarlet as Hermione leaned in and whispered in his ear, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"All right, cards away boys," Mrs. Weasley said. "Everyone go outside." Ron packed away the cards, which was hard to do considering they continued to explode. Fred and George walked outside. Minutes later Mrs. Weasley ushered Harry, Ron and Hermione through the door and into the garden.

"Fred and George have already apparated, Molly," Arthur Weasley said as he stood in the garden holding a rather worn out looking hat.

"We're using a portkey?" Harry asked. He hadn't been keen on using them since his fourth year. Ron, who had gotten his license while he had been staying at the Dursleys', did not look surprised by this. "Why don't you two apparate?"

"Mum reckons we can't find our way," Ron replied looking thoroughly put off. "We've not been there before, so we could end up miles off."

"Well, she is quite right," Hermione told him in her know-it-all voice. "Just because we passed the test does not mean we're fit for travelling such distances on our own."

"As if you'll ever do something less than perfectly," Ron replied as Mr. Weasley held out the hat for the others to take hold.

"Hurry, now," Mr. Weasley urged, glancing at his watch nervously. The five of them squeezed into a tight circle and grabbed the brim. The older, ginger-haired man counted down the seconds to their departure and Harry felt a familiar tugging sensation behind his navel.

Within seconds they were standing in the front garden of a large castle in France feeling slightly nauseas. A tall, gangly blonde man hurried down the stone steps to greet them. He led the three Weasleys, Harry and Hermione through several corridors of the castle. Soft music seemed to be coming from within the walls. The quiet murmuring of a large crowd of people grew louder as the walked on, eventually becoming a dull roar as the sextet entered a very large, stone walled room with tall, vaulted ceilings. Fairies glittered in the small, manicured potted trees what lined the walls. Hundreds of flowers in gold, white and pale blue adorned the pews and alter.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Hermione whispered to Harry.

"I think it's a bit much," Harry said. "I always thought weddings should be small and private."

"Can't get much more public than this," Ron muttered, nodding toward the photographers that stood metres away.

The blonde man led them to their seats and Bill, who had been waiting nervously for the wedding to begin, rushed over to them. His scars had faded since the attack, though he slightly resembled Mad-Eye Moody. Harry didn't listen to the conversation between the eldest of the Weasleys' sons and his anxious parents. Mrs. Weasley tried to hold back her tears and Harry flipped open the program that had been left on his seat and lowered his eyes to the page.

_Fleur Clarabelle Delacour_

_And_

_William Patrick Weasley_

_Maid of Honour: Gabrielle Helene Delacour _

_Sister to the Bride_

_Bridesmaid: Ginevra Molly Weasley (are you sure? This is what the lexicon says...)_

_Sister to the Groom_

_Best Man: Charles Axton Weasley_

_Brother to the Groom_

_Groomsman: Luther Orson Fitzroy_

_Cousin to the Bride_

Bill, looking nervously at his watch, returned to the front of the room quickly. As a large, unseen clock tolled the hour the music changed. Bill stood rigidly as the procession began. Harry could have sworn the room brightened and grew warmer as the eyes of the audience turned to the back. Slowly, Harry turned in his seat and his eyes connected with the chocolate brown eyes of the youngest Weasley. His heart skipped a beat as he took in her auburn hair, which had been lightly curled and laid softly atop her head. A few loose tendrils brushed against her slender neck, which was bare. She wore a simple dress of pale gold that made her fair, lightly freckled skin glow in the twinkling light of the candles in the chandeliers above. He felt his heart, which had been so giddy not a moment before, crush with devastating force as Ginny's expression grew hard as she lifted her gaze from his.

Harry sat forward and sank into his seat as the people around him made sounds of awe. Gabrielle, no doubt was walking down the aisle, followed by her sister. Harry was not interested. He felt as if his torso had been hollowed out and nothing remained but throbbing pain. The crowd turned to face front, but he hardly noticed. The words spoken were lost to his ears. This was pain. This was rejection. He now realized he had had no idea what heartbreak was when he and Cho had grown apart.

"Harry, are you all right, mate?" Ron asked, nudging him in the ribs. Harry's unseeing gaze broke from the floor and he turned to see his concerned friend sitting next to him. How was it possible that Ron didn't see what had happened? Could anyone in the room have gone without noticing that his heart had been ripped from his chest and crushed underneath her heel? Ginny stood calmly in the front of the room holding a bouquet of flowers between her hands at waist level. Her gaze was fixed forward and her jaw was set. She didn't want to look at him; she was making a point of ignoring him.

"I'm fine," Harry said gruffly and resumed staring into space. Hermione shot a look at Ron. She, at least, seemed to know what had happened. Harry was glad they were silent afterward. He was not keen to talk. Briefly, he considered leaving the room and apparating back to the Burrow. Never mind that it was illegal, Harry would rather be in Azkaban than within Ginny's eyesight at that moment. At least in a cold, damp and dark cell he would have his thoughts to himself. He wouldn't have to listen to the words of love, devotion and commitment being spoken in front of him.

Harry would have rather been brooding in a dark room than at the wedding. The wedding hall been crowded, but the reception was loud as well as cramped. It was more apparent that he was distancing himself from the crowd. Harry sat at a table in the back of the room, pushing his food around with his fork. Ron and Hermione were trying valiantly to have a nice conversation, but they soon gave it up as a bad job. Harry wasn't in a good mood, and it was best to leave him alone when he got this way.

"You should try to talk to her," Hermione said finally, looking as if she had wanted nothing better than to say just that all day.

"If she'd give me the time of day," Harry mumbled. "How am I supposed to get her away from Fleur and Gabrielle?"

"You could ask her to dance," Hermione offered, though it seemed a half-hearted suggestion.

"Brilliant," Harry replied. "If she doesn't start talking to me after I've humiliated myself in front of two hundred people she probably never will."

"Why do girls think everything can be solved by dancing?" Ron asked with a glance at Hermione.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" Hermione retorted, her blood heating up as she prepared for an argument.

"All you birds think about is dancing. It's scary, really," Ron replied.

"Just because you are afraid to dance doesn't mean I am obsessed with it!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I am not afraid to dance!" Ron countered, his ears turning pink.

"Then why don't you ask me to dance?" Hermione fumed.

"All right, I'll prove it to you." Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her out onto the dance floor, Hermione blushing furiously as Fred and George began catcalling. Harry watched as Ron awkwardly placed one hand on Hermione's waist. Certainly Harry wasn't afraid to ask Ginny to dance, but that wasn't the issue. He needed to have a serious talk with her. He would have to get her away from Gabrielle, away from the crowded reception. Plucking up his courage, Harry dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter and pushed his chair away from the table.

He walked purposefully toward her with his jaw set and his fist clenched, looking as if he was going to a fight. Maybe he was. "Can I talk to you?" he asked without waiting for her to even look at him. Her eyes narrowed as her conversation abruptly ended.

"Go ahead," Ginny replied, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

"Outside," Harry said firmly. Ginny stood, knocking over her chair and left the room ahead of him.

Ten minutes later, Harry ran a hand through his dark hair as he walked on the grass and chanced a look at Ginny, who was at his side. She looked put out and impatient. He had not managed to pass a word through his lips since the left the reception. Gritting his teeth, Harry held his breath, easing it out to say, "Ginny…" As he hadn't formulated a statement, he let it hang.

The young woman beside him stopped and looked straight into his green eyes. They were filled with turmoil, and it had her concerned. "What is it, Harry?"

"I just… I'm sorry I made you cry," he said lamely.

"What makes you think you made me cry?" she asked curiously. He wasn't sure how to respond.

"Ginny," he said, changing the subject. "We were good friends. All of us were."

"I haven't stopped being your friend," she stated. Her voice was even and quiet with the rustling of the leave in the breeze.

"Things are different, now."

"Yes. They are," she said. They lapsed into silence as they walked through the sparse trees around the castle.

"I can't get too close to you, Ginny. It'd be dangerous."

"I know that," she replied, "but it wasn't really safe before, either."

"I could kick myself for putting you in danger." It was quiet evident from his voice that he was angry with himself. "I couldn't stand it if you were hurt because of me."

"He's gone after me once before. In my first year."

"I'm sure he'd do worse if he found out about us," Harry retorted. "I don't want to give him any more reason to go after you."

They were quiet once more. Ginny lingered on a hilltop, savouring the sight of the sky over the rolling hills. It was tinged with crimson and gold over the dark trees. The remnants of the suns light set her auburn hair aflame. Harry joined her.

"You never wrote me," Ginny stated indifferently. She was merely pointing out the fact that she had never received a letter in reply as she admired the painted sky.

"I wasn't sure how I could respond to that."

"I don't know," she admitted. "Was it horrible with your uncle?"

"It always is," he acknowledged.

Ginny seemed to think something over for a moment before she turned away from the sky and from Harry. "I should go back," she said and made to head to the castle. Harry caught her arm in his grasp. She turned back to him with confusion in her face. She masked the pain in her heart.

"Wait," he said simply. She held back words for several minutes, but he didn't say anything.

"Harry?"

"I love you, Ginny. I want you to know that." He was suddenly aware that his skin was growing hot where his hand contacted her arm. The monster inside him was practically begging for Harry to kiss her. It took massive amounts of willpower to deny the urge.

She took a step closer to him, slowly, cautiously. "I can't wait for you forever."

His heart clenched, growing desperate to be with her. He pushed aside his feelings and struggled to speak. "Of course not. You're free to..." he cleared his throat to stop his voice from breaking, "to date other people."

"I don't want anyone else," she whispered as she tilted her head to his and threaded her fingers through his dishevelled hair. She pulled him down to her level and her lips came crashing against his.

Stunned, Harry's hands found their way up her bare arms. She was shivering from either the chill in the air or the boldness of her actions. His head was swimming; he felt as if he could not tell up from down. Not a thought penetrated the haze of his mind as he kissed her with all he had. There was nothing except the two of them at that moment, but slowly he felt his consciousness slide in. His hands flew to her shoulders and he separated the two of them by the length of his arms. His breathing was laboured and he kept his eyes closed in hope of clearing his mind.

He didn't know what to say. The cool wind of the coming night touched the sweat dampened skin of his face. He welcomed the icy kiss of the breeze. Leaves rustled on the trees around them and, in the distance, birds were singing their last before turning in for the night. The silence between them stretched on. He dropped his hand from her and clenched his fists.

Ginny knew he would never allow her to be in danger. She had known him long enough to realise that he would not change his mind. He thought with his heart and always had. "We should get back inside," she said quietly, knowing he would want to be alone for a while. He only nodded and they walked silently up the sloping lawns to the reception. She returned to her table and started a new conversation with Gabrielle. Harry sat between Ron and Hermione at his table in the corner. His plate had been removed and he found that, though he had not eaten properly in days, he had no desire whatsoever to eat.


	3. Love and Loss

Author's Note: Thanks to co-writer: WebMistressGina who wrote most of Dumbledore's tear-jerking letter.

Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala

Chapter Three

Love and Loss

Harry sat in a big, lumpy chair by the empty fireplace playing chess with Ron as the sun set. Though he usually lost, Harry was putting up even less of a fight today. He found he could not concentrate on the game as his mind continued to wander. He had been up half the night trying to figure out where Voldemort would have hidden his Horcruxes. The other half of the night was reluctantly devoted to the youngest Weasley sleeping the floor below. He couldn't keep his thoughts away from her when he had been trying to sleep, just as he couldn't now.

Hermione sat on the couch reading _Dark Magic: Detection and Protection _on which she had placed a jacket to hide the cover. She had borrowed it from Harry merely two days ago, but she was already more than halfway through with it. Crookshanks curled up on Hermione's lap, getting his fur all over her corduroys and blue shirt. He purred, swishing his tail as he contemplated attacking the pieces moving about the chess board. No doubt the mangy cat would have preferred to hunt gnomes in the garden, but it had been raining violently for days now and everyone was confined to indoors. Tensions were running high and Harry felt he would go stark raving mad if he didn't get out of the Burrow soon.

"Ron," Mrs. Weasley called. She appeared in the doorway wiping her hands dry on a dish cloth. "You and Harry sort out the living room, please. Hermione, would you mind giving me a hand with dinner?"

"Of course, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said. She got up and handed the book to Ron to take upstairs for her. The three of them had agreed it would be for the best if the Weasleys didn't know about Harry's collection of books. It would only worry them, and everyone knew Molly Weasley worried enough.

"Is someone coming to dinner?" Ron asked as he took Harry's queen. It wasn't uncommon for his Mum to ask them to clean around the house, but the nervous wiping of her hands indicated something more. She was always shy about their house, which wasn't exactly the model of fashion, and Ron had learned to read her mannerisms.

"Professor McGonagall will be joining us," Mrs. Weasley replied before turning back into the kitchen. Hermione followed her.

"We're supposed to be on holiday," Ron groaned as he put away the chess set. "Why'd she have to invite a professor to dinner?"

"We don't even know if Hogwarts is reopening, Ron," Ginny said. Harry was caught off guard by her sudden appearance. He turned to face her, but she was already walking out of the room. She had been avoiding him for days.

"They can't close down a school," Ron argued, sounding unsure of himself.

Harry didn't reply, but began placing books on the shelves and tossing candy wrappers in the rubbish bin. It didn't take them long to finish, especially with Ron's using magic every minute. He had passed his test near the beginning of the holidays and was almost as bad as Fred and George when it came to apparating everywhere he went.

Having finished, they joined the three women in the kitchen. Harry grabbed a handful of forks and followed Ginny around the table as she laid knives beside every plate. Ron pulled glasses down and placed them arbitrarily on the table. Mr. Weasley came through the kitchen door just then and exclaimed, "Evening, Weasleys!"

"Hi, Dad," Ginny said.

"Good evening, Mr. Weasley," Hermione said politely as she stirred a stew on the stove.

"Molly, what have I told you about keeping the door locked?"

"Arthur, quickly go upstairs and wash your hands. Minerva will be here soon."

"Keep the door locked, Molly," Mr. Weasley said as he placed his brolly on the hook by the entrance.

"Of course, dear. Ron, go upstairs and put on a presentable shirt!"

"There's nothing wrong with this one!" Ron argued, looking down at his torn Chudley Cannons T shirt. He'd had it for many years now and age had not been kind to it.

"Go!" Mrs. Weasley shouted. Ron trudged upstairs after his father, mumbling about being treated like a child.

There was a firm knock at the door and Mrs. Weasley hurried to it to invite Professor McGonagall inside. "Hello, Molly," McGonagall said in a tone as warm as it ever got. She closed the door behind her and dried her robes wordlessly with her wand.

"Have a seat, Minerva. May I get you some tea?"

"Please," Professor McGonagall replied as she sat. "Good evening," she directed to Harry, Hermione and Ginny, who had been fairly silent since her arrival. Their Transfiguration professor could not have contrasted more with the hodge podge that was the Burrow. Her velvet green robes were fastened with a shining broach, making her stand out like a gleaming treasure in a pile of rubbish.

"Go upstairs and gather your father and brothers, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said as she placed a cup of tea in front of her guest. Mrs. Weasley sat at the table, as did Harry and Hermione. Fred, George, Ron and Ginny filtered in, followed by Mr. Weasley.

"Hello, Minerva," Arthur welcomed her as he passed the green beans to his wife. "Have you told everyone the good news?"

"I have not," McGonagall said. She looked as if she had no intention of telling them, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked at her expectantly. "Hogwarts will be reopening this term." Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and it was obvious Ron didn't know whether to be excited or disappointed. "We've arranged for aurors to guard the school and Hogsmeade at all times. Hogwarts has never been safer."

"Have you got all the professors in order?" Mr. Weasley asked conversationally.

"I have," she answered before dipping her spoon into the stew. "Horace Slughorn has kindly offered to stay this term as well."

"That's a relief," Mrs. Weasley said. I should hate for you to have to arrange for three new professors."

"It hasn't been so difficult as I thought it should have been," Professor McGonagall replied.

"When do you expect the O.W.L. results will arrive?"

"Later this week, no doubt."

"I would like to make only one trip to Diagon Alley," Mrs. Weasley explained. "It's such a hassle to get there nowadays."

"Hopefully, Scrimgeour will get things moving with the capture of the dementors and Death Eaters," Mr. Weasley said.

"Merlin knows our business is hurting," Fred said.

"What are you on about?" Ron asked. "You're doing brilliantly."

"Sure, but we'd be rolling in Galleons, no doubt, if people weren't afraid to leave the house," George replied.

"If Scrimgeour was half as concerned about how he was running things as he is about how he looks..."

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley warned.

It was no secret that Mr. Weasley was not fond of the job the Minister of Magic was doing. He often ranted about recent decrees or arrests. Mrs. Weasley usually agreed with him, but she did not want him to go on a tirade in front of company. She stood and started clearing the table. Fred, George and Ginny excused themselves. Harry made to stand, but Mr. Weasley motioned for him to stay. Ron and Hermione stayed seated as well, having seen the gesture.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said as she stood. "May I have a word with you in the other room?" Harry nodded and followed her to the sitting room. The room was darkened as no one had been occupying it, lending to the serious tone of voice the professor would adopt. McGonagall stood fairly close to him, her heeled shoes adding several inches to her height. Still, she no longer towered over Harry. Perhaps it was that, or the sickly, worn look she had recently acquired, but he no longer saw her as an authority figure and he felt no obligation to do as she told him.

She stood rather close to the door, speaking in a low and solemn voice. "Molly tells me that you will not be attending Hogwarts this term."

"She's got it right, Professor," Harry replied. His resolute gaze met her worried yet hopeful eyes. He stood stiffly, using body language to express his decidedness.

"I must impress upon you the importance of a proper education."

"Have you heard the prophecy, Professor?" Harry asked, jumping right into the thick of things.

"You speak of the prophecy that supposedly pertains to you and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? I know only what the Daily Prophet has reported and the press is hardly reliable."

"It does speak of me," Harry insisted, stressing his words. He kept his gaze firmly locked on hers and, therefore, he did not miss the flicker of surprise that quickly passed, that was soon masked with suspicion.

"None of this information can be confirmed," she stated, sounding thoroughly unimpressed.

"It can. Dumbledore was present when it was originally prophesied. He related the information to me. I am the one who must defeat Voldemort."

"Surely Albus did not tell you such a thing."

"He believed I could do it," Harry retorted, growing hot. He had avoided discussing Dumbledore since the man's death; it hurt too much to realise he would never again see his mentor.

"Mr. Potter, I know you must feel you have the weight of the Wizarding world on your shoulders at the moment. I must stress the fact that the actions of a dark wizard are not the fault of your self. You cannot control what he does anymore than he can control you."

Harry grimaced at this remark, having been forcibly reminded of his fifth year. Dumbledore had avoided Harry; the wizened old wizard had known that Voldemort'd had a measure of control over the boy. Harry had nearly attacked Dumbledore and had led his friends into a fruitless danger that had gotten his godfather killed. He shuddered to think of what worse things could have happened. Voldemort, indeed, had a measure of control over Harry. Therefore, it was up to Harry to stop the Dark Wizard.

"I cannot sit idly by while Voldemort murders people on a whim," he said firmly. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and slitted her eyes, but said nothing. She could do nothing to protect a person so unwilling to accept help. After several minutes of silence, she began to defend her point once more.

"A prophecy is little more than an educated guess, Mr. Potter. More often than not, it is fulfilled due to a person making it so. Had You-Know-Who not believed the prophecy, he would not have killed your parents. Should you choose not to believe it, I am certain it will not be true. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is not immortal; he uses fear and deceit to obtain what he desires."

"Prophecy or no, I am going to kill Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall sighed with shallow breath and reached into her robes, pulling out a thick piece of parchment. "Albus left this for me," she declared as she handed it to him. "I was to give it to you in the event that he should perish."

He took the worn, yellowed parchment and beheld the looping cursive that formed his name. He placed it in the back pocket of his trousers.

"Please reconsider, Mr. Potter," she said once more before leaving him.

xXxXx

Harry held the thick parchment envelope in his hand as he dragged his feet up the many stairs of the Burrow. He felt as if his legs had turned to lead. His green eyes looked forward unseeingly as he pushed open the door to Ron's bedroom. He didn't close it behind him, but sat on his bed and stared at his name, written in the script to which he had grown accustomed in the six years he had known the former Headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry had never thought Dumbledore would die, not in the seven years Hogwarts would have been his home. Regardless of whatever proof he had seen of Dumbledore's mistakes, Harry had thought the elderly wizard infallible.

Cautiously, Ron and Hermione entered the room. Hermione stood in the corner, feigning interest in Pigwidgeon while Ron, who always had been rather tactless and direct, sat on the bed across from Harry, clasped his hands together and fixed his stare on his best mate. "Are you going to read that?" he asked.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, turning abruptly to stare at the Weasley with disbelief. Both Harry and Ron ignored her outburst.

"Yes," Harry murmured, not taking his eyes off the letter. He stared at it a few moments longer, half expecting it to start screaming or to burst into flame, before he turned it over in his hands, slid a finger under the flap and broke the seal.

He felt as if he were disturbing a crypt by opening a letter written by a man now dead, but Harry pressed on. He read it through three times to himself and then handed it to his best mate. Hermione read over Ron's shoulder, glancing at Harry occasionally, her eyes growing watery.

_Harry,_

_If you are receiving this, then I have moved on to my next great adventure. By now, I hope that the tears that have been shed over me have been happy and though I am not with you in person, I am always by your side in spirit._

_Harry, I know we have had our differences and that I have withheld things from you. Please forgive an old man for trying to keep you young for as long as possible. I have always been fond of you, Harry, and in that I admit my failing. Like anyone who has ever had a loved one, we sometimes push them away when we feel that they will be safer. With that said, I know how you will react, dear boy, and I must ask that you not repeat the performance of your fifth year; do not charge into battle unprepared and without knowing what to expect. While I am saddened to say that it will likely be you alone to defeat Voldemort, you cannot reach that goal by yourself._

_You have wonderful friends, Harry. Friends who would go to the ends of the Earth for you; you have people who love you and only wish to keep you in their lives. I know the losses of your parents and of Sirius have hurt you deeply, but you must not push away those who love you – and who you love in return - because you feel they will be safe. Do you remember the prophecy? "He will have power the Dark Lord knows not." I have always felt this was love, Harry, and have thought so because Tom Riddle has been where you have: alone, without parents, and seemingly without people to care for or to love him. However, the difference in you, Harry, is that people do care about you. People like the Weasleys, Ms. Granger, Remus Lupin, those in the Order, Professor McGonagall, and others are here for you._

_The fault of coddling you is attributed to that love, Harry. Sometimes love blinds us, but it should never be prevented from seeing the brightness of the day. Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger may fret, but it is because they love and care for you. Molly Weasley, Merlin knows, sees you as one of her own; it is only natural she would want to shelter you. Though, at your age, you may feel as though you don't need any shelter, everyone needs guidance, even an old man like myself. I'm almost sure that, from time to time, you may even need the guidance of a certain Ginevra Weasley._

_Harry, this part is extremely important. I know you have, by now, told Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger about the Horcruxes and you may even be thinking of starting out to find them. I ask, or rather I beg, that you do not act hastily on this venture. I know my death may have saddened you and believe me when I say that I am deeply grateful that, after everything, you still feel my presence fully. However, the world was not born in a day and you must be very careful with this mission. I implore you to stay at Hogwarts while working on this. While Voldemort does need to be stopped, running into the fire without the means to put it out is foolhardy at best. There are still things for you to learn and, might I add, some of your research may be found in the library itself._

_I must apologise again, Harry, for leaving like I did. I am well aware of how this came about, so I must insist that you leave things as they are for now. Again, I've had to keep you in the dark and for that, I am sorry. I wish with all my heart that you could've grown up as a normal teenager instead of facing this obstacle through your years. It is my wish for you that you experience the ups and downs of being a young adult, even when battling the demons you now face. Please try and have fun with your friends, try to laugh every day and even try to best Mr. Filch in sneaking around the castle. Play pranks, eat well, and kiss a girl in one of the broom closets though, I hope, not so often you get caught. Experience life as it should have been for you, Harry. Do not let the weight of this bring you down, down to the point where you forget why you are doing this._

_There is more to you than the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One. You are Harry Potter, son of James and Lily, godson to Sirius Black, friend to most... you are a good boy, Harry, and you are turning into a fine young man. Your parents would be proud; Sirius was extremely proud; Remus is proud and so am I. You have made yourself worthy of our love and we... we have done a disservice in leaving you by one means or another. This is not your fault, Harry, and you have done far better than most would have done in your shoes._

_Alas, the hour is late and this letter seems to have gotten longer by the second. I have faith in you, Harry, as do your friends and loved ones. We know you can do this and you must remember that you always have a choice. You will do greatly and you will have, once again, made those of us who love you proud indeed._

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Ron held the letter over his head and Hermione took it from him, rereading it as he asked, "So?"

"What do you mean 'so'? How do you expect me to elaborate?"

"Are you going to follow his advice?"

"You want to know if I'm going back to Hogwarts," Harry corrected. Ron simply nodded. Hermione did not look up, but her eyes had stopped moving along the parchment, signalling she was waiting to hear Harry's answer. " Dumbledore wanted me to go back," Harry reasoned. "He thought I'd be better prepared..."

"And he thought there was something in the school," Hermione observed.

"Yes," he admitted. After a considerable silence, he added, "I'm going to Godric's Hollow."

"Yes, we know," Hermione said as Ron asserted, "We'll go with you."

From the doorway, Ginny cleared her throat quietly to announce her presence. Hermione's expression turned instantly from worry and curiosity to concern. Ron looked as if he expected a fight to ensue. The youngest of the Weasleys looked tired and worn. Harry, who had been craning his neck over his shoulder to see her, turned back and, upon noticing he no longer held Dumbledore's letter, stared at his empty hands.

"Mum wants you to help her downstairs," Ginny informed her brother, stepping into the room slightly.

"I'll go with you," Hermione called after Ron's retreating form, dropping the letter on the bed beside Harry. He could feel Ginny's eyes on him, worried and sad, as they were left alone. Wanting something to distract himself from the tense silence, he picked up the letter and stared at it. His eyes did not focus, the words blurred into a sea of black ink as he listened to the strained breath of his best mate's auburn-haired sister behind him.

"What did Professor McGonagall want?" Ginny asked politely, though she could not hide the note of curiosity in her voice.

"To give me this," Harry replied, briefly holding the parchment up for emphasis. "It's from Dumbledore."

"What did he have to say?" she asked as the ghoul in the attic made himself known by throwing books and marbles at the wooden floor. The glass balls hit with a sharp sound and rolled along the floor above them, the pitch changing as they rolled overhead and passed.

"Ginny..." he said in a tone of exhaustion as he placed the letter on the bedside table. He stood to face her, but her head was turned, nearly showing him her profile as she averted her eyes to the floor. She knew he wouldn't tell her what was in the letter, but something was bothering her even more.

"Did you ever plan on telling me?" She turned her chocolate eyes to him. They brimmed with tears; Harry tried to ignore the tightness in his stomach.

"Telling you what?"

"The prophecy, Harry."

"How did you-"

"Thin walls," she replied, rapping her knuckles against the boundary behind her. "What's going on? What's this about Horcruxes? And Godric's Hollow?"

"Look, Gin-"

"You want to protect me. I've heard this before."

"It's still true."

"This," she said placing her palm to her chest as she closed the distance between them, "is true."

Harry felt as if he were being suffocated under a pillow. His face was prickling with heat and his lungs felt cold and squeezed as if what little air he did manage to get was that of a bone-chilling winter morning.

"I love you," she professed. "Isn't this killing you?"

"Yes," Harry confessed before bending down and taking her mouth with his. She tasted like honey and sweet rolls. It had always been like this when he kissed her; there was nothing else until the fog cleared from his mind. Her fingers fisted into the fabric of his shirt as his arms encircled her, pulling her toward him. Then, all at once, as if someone had raised a curtain to the bright morning sun, Harry came crashing back to reality. He pushed her away, letting out a frustrated growl, and stormed to the window, throwing his hands forward and slamming them onto the sill. A bug angrily flew from danger's path with a low buzz, only to return when he had left. "You need to stop kissing me like that."

"You kissed me that time."

Harry sighed with frustration. "Why don't you understand this?"

"I understand perfectly, but I don't agree. I don't think it matters, as far as safety is concerned, whether or not we're together. Everyone knows we dated last year. I'll be a target regardless," she said calmly. "I know you want-"

He turned to her again, anger masking his other emotions, hiding the fear that gripped his heart at her words. "You can't always have what you want! Sometimes you have to do what's right!"

"What's wrong about love?"

"You bloody well know what is wrong with it! You know why we can't be together."

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs, but no one paid attention. She called many times over the next few minutes, but she would continue to be ignored.

"I know you want to separate yourself from me," Ginny continued. "But everyone's heard the rumours. In your first year Dumbledore told you the only reason you survived the killing curse was because of love. Love is what saved you-"

"And it's what killed my mother! She had a chance to live and she didn't take it!"

"To live with such guilt or to die protecting one you love… That's not much of a debate," she pointed out.

"Even so, I'm not giving you the same choice!"

"It should be my decision, Harry."

Harry crossed the room in a fraction of a second, stunning Ginny so that she forgot to breathe. He kissed her again, forcefully, hungrily, but broke away just as suddenly and held her at arms reach. "Stay away from me, Ginny. For Merlin's sake, do as I say."

"I won't," Ginny vowed. She turned and walked out the door to answer her mother. She paused, her auburn hair flipping loosely as she turned. "You know I won't."

The echo of Dumbledore's words came in her wake as Harry collapsed onto his bed once more.

_You must not push away those who love you – and who you love in return - because you feel they will be safe._

xXxXx

"Mum's saved some food for you if you decide to go downstairs later," Ron said. Harry lay in bed, unmoving. He merely grunted his acknowledgement as he stared at the ceiling. The sun had come up hours ago, but Harry couldn't will himself to leave the room. He couldn't bear to see Ginny again. His mind was still reeling from their talk last night. Even Dumbledore had told him he should keep Ginny close, but he couldn't stand the idea of her getting hurt because of him.

"She didn't come to breakfast, either," Ron continued, speaking of his sister as he flopped on his bed and threw a letter at Harry.

"Is she all right?" Harry sat up in his bed and grabbed the letter which had slipped onto the floor.

"Hermione said she was fine."

Harry wasn't convinced, but he couldn't think of anything to do about Ginny's mood. Talking to her would just end in more heartbreak and he doubted that would make her feel better. While he was at it, he needed to find a way to cheer himself up. He opened the official looking letter he received every year from Hogwarts and pulled out the parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
_

_We are pleased to accept you to your seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. As you are captain of the Gryffindor House Quidditch team, you are expected to carry out those duties outline last year.  
_

_Term begins on September first. The Hogwarts Express will depart from King's Cross Station Platform nine and three-quarters promptly at eleven o' clock._

_Yours Sincerely,  
Filius Flitwick  
Deputy Headmaster_

Continued on the next page he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

_Course books:_

_Mr. Potter should have one of each of the following._

_N.E.W.T. Level Charms by Adalbert Waffling_

_The Standard Book of Spells grade seven by Miranda Goshawk_

_The Dark Arts Outsmarted by Quentin Trimble_

_Advanced Potion-Making volume two by Libatius Borage_

_Advanced Human Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_Please note that all seventh year students will be required to meet periodically through the year with their Head of House to discuss career options._

Harry made no attempt to move from his bed. There was no desire to face the day. He had a pounding headache and his stomach was twisting in knots. Dumbledore's words kept repeating in his mind like a broken record.

_You must not push away those who love you – and who you love in return - because you feel they will be safe._

No matter Dumbledore had advised him to the contrary, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he had to separate himself from Ginny. Everyone to whom he had grown close, everyone who was more than a friend to him, had died at the hands of Voldemort or one of his followers. Harry wanted to keep her away from all of that. If there was nothing more valuable than love, it needed to be protected, and he planned on doing everything in his power to protect Ginny Weasley.


	4. Diagon Alley

Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala

Chapter Four

Diagon Alley

Harry soon discovered it was rather difficult to shut one's self in a room all day. He had barely made it past noon when his stomach and his bladder overruled his stubbornness, forcing him out of Ron's room and, after a quick stop, into the kitchen. "Hello, Harry," Hermione greeted as he entered the room. Ron and Hermione sat at the table playing chess. He looked into the living room, noticing Ginny was not there. He took a seat next to Ron.

"Ginny made sandwiches," Ron gestured to the plate in the middle of the table.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked, not touching the plate. His stomach growled, but he couldn't will himself to eat. Just the thought made him feel sick. At his question, Hermione cleared her throat and turned back to the chess game.

"She's out on her broom," Ron informed him. "Has been for hours."

_This has got to stop, _Harry thought. He and Ginny couldn't avoid each other forever, especially when they were in the small house for the rest of the holidays. They were making themselves miserable and everyone else uncomfortable. It was time they handled the situation like adults.

Ron and Hermione hadn't said anything when he left the table, nor did they open their mouths when he returned minutes later with his Firebolt. Harry opened the squeaking front door and shut it behind him. He trudged down the sloping lawn into the trees sheltering the Weasleys' paddock with his broom over his shoulder. As he made his way into the clearing, his eyes focused on the young woman in the air. She was making passes at a hoop suspended in the trees, seemingly not noticing him, and tossing a ball in before swooping to the ground to grab another. Harry mounted his broom and rose to her height. He managed to reach the hoop just as she threw a ball at it. He blocked it with his forearm and took in the look of surprise she gave him. It quickly turned to hurt and boredom.

"You'd make a decent Keeper," Ginny said mildly as she dived to the ground, levelled out and grabbed another quaffle-sized ball in one arm. She rose quickly.

"Thanks," Harry said, trying to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. It had been there since Dumbledore's funeral. "Do you practise often?" he asked as the ball soared past his ear and into the hoop.

"Not every day, if that's what you're asking. Why? Does my answer affect my chances at making the team this year?" For a second, Ginny sounded like her old self, joking with him amiably.

"Unless the Wimbourne Wasps return to Hogwarts this year, there is no chance you won't make the team."

Harry's compliment seemed to bring Ginny back to reality. Her expression sobered as she hovered metres ahead of him, holding the ball in her hands. "Why are you here, Harry?"

He sighed. Things had been going so well between them. Now the tension was growing once more. "We can't avoid each other forever."

"I don't trust myself around you."

"Nor do I," Harry agreed sheepishly. "We got on pretty well before all of this. Why can't we just go back?"

"So you want me to forget everything that happened between us?"

"No. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"I'll never give up on you," avowed Ginny, her gaze intense.

Harry paused, remembering all the times he had read her letter while had had stayed at the Dursleys'. He still had it stashed in the drawer by his bed. "Come on," he dared her. "You won't score another one on me."

Ginny fought it, but his boyish smile was infectious and she soon found herself having a good time.

xXxXx

Harry and Ginny returned to the Burrow around dusk and, aside from a few awkward silences and tense moments, they were no worse for wear. His spirits were higher than they had been in months. While he wasn't naïve enough to think everything was right between them, he felt as if, perhaps, things would be tolerable. They hadn't even opened the door to head inside when they were assaulted by loud, irritated voices. Fred and George were laughing in the kitchen while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley frowned at the twins. It was apparent relatively quickly what was going on and why.

"If he's just a friend why are you two going on a date?" Ron's voice filled the house.

Hermione's retort was equally loud. "It's not a date! He's going to be in London for a match!"

"And you figured you'd jump into his arms because he'll be here?"

"Hardly! He's not even the one I want!"

"And who is? McLaggen?"

"Not at all. I-"

"I don't want you to go out with Krum."

"You won't even let me finish a sentence! I don't see what business it is of yours anyhow," she said viciously.

"It's my business when some dangerous prat tries to move in on my... my friend!"

"Dangerous?" Hermione laughed sardonically. "I wouldn't be in less danger if I stood in front of your wand, you thick git!"

Hermione burst into the kitchen, face bright with fury and a letter in her hand. She noticed everyone crowded in the kitchen, most of whom were pretending they hadn't been listening. Fred and George, contrastingly, were laughing and making jokes in the corner.

"I got a letter from Viktor," she explained sheepishly, offering the parchment as proof.

"We'd gathered," Ginny giggled.

"They sound like Mum and Dad," George chortled and the twins were racked with a new fit of laughter. Mrs. Weasley blushed and her husband turned the page of his newspaper with a cough.

Ron stormed into the room and stood behind Hermione, his ears red and fists clenched. "Sod off!" he called to the twins, making them laugh all the harder, before turning to the enraged woman in front of him. "Can we talk outside?" he asked through clenched teeth with barely restrained anger.

"No, Ron. I'm through arguing with you." She left in a huff, off to Ginny's room.

"All right, son?" Mr. Weasley asked, taking his eyes off the Daily Prophet he hadn't had time to read that morning.

"I'm brassed off!" he said, though it was obvious he was, before he pushed between Harry and Ginny and out through the door.

"I think he's in a bit of a foul mood," Mr. Weasley said, restraining his laughter as his wife placed a pot of onion soup on the table.

"Sit down, Harry. You need to put some meat on your bones."

"Krum asked Hermione for a date?" Harry asked as he spooned up a small amount of soup.

"He asked her to dinner," Mrs. Weasley said simply.

"Hermione still thinks he only wants to be her friend," Fred laughed.

"We all know he wants like mad to snog her," George added, shoving a biscuit into his mouth.

After dinner, Mrs. Weasley insisted they listen to the WWN. Fred, George and Ginny were doing a fairly good job of ignoring the witch's singing and Mr. Weasley was rather accustomed to it, but Harry was getting a headache. Hermione had holed herself in Ginny's room upstairs and had asked to be left alone. Ron, after several hours, had returned minutes ago and ignored everyone in the living room. Harry said goodnight to everyone and headed upstairs. If Ron needed to talk, he would be there and, if not, he would read one of the many books he had not yet gotten to. He had just reached the landing to Ginny's room when he heard voices through the shut door. He paused, thinking Hermione really did need company if she was talking to herself.

"If you're going to start another row you can just leave," Hermione was saying.

Harry was momentarily perplexed, thinking she may have been talking to him even though they had not argued, until Ron replied from inside the room, "Look, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

There was a pause. "I'm sorry as well. I don't really think you are thick," she said softly. Harry started to walk slowly so the floorboards would not creak. This wasn't a conversation he should be listening in on.

"Never mind that. What was it you were trying to say?"

"It's nothing." She sounded upset.

"Hermione," Ron beseeched in a gentle tone. Then he inhaled sharply and Harry could only assume he had just caught sight of her for the first time. "You've been crying."

Hermione sniffed a bit and wiped her eyes, no doubt. "It's no big deal."

"I'm sorry," Ron said hastily. "I should never have yelled." Things were silent for several seconds. Harry was nearly up the stairs. However, their hushed voices grew louder, so Harry could still hear their words.

"I'm sorry," Ron said again, sounding nervous and almost panicked.

"Ron-"

Something fell over. "I should go," Ron said.

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed when Ron walked in and shut the door. For a moment, he didn't move, but just stared straight forward. Then he leaned against the door and pounded the back of his head against it.

"What happened?" Harry dared ask.

Hermione," Ron groaned. His eyes were squeezed shut. Harry didn't say anything as Ron growled in frustration and grabbed the first thing he saw, last year's Transfiguration book, and threw it out the window. The crash of the glass seemed to satisfy him momentarily, then he resumed leaning on the door with his eyes closed and his head raised to the ceiling.

"Why is everything so complicated?" Ron muttered.

"I'd like to know that, myself," Harry responded non-committally.

No one moved for several minutes. Harry heard murmurs from Ginny's room, likely the two girls talking. Harry looked at Ron expectantly.

"I wanted to apologise for the row we'd had. I saw she'd been crying and... and I wiped her cheek. Next thing, I'm kissing her." He paused for a long time. "It was different."

"Different?"

"From when I snogged Lavender. It was more..."

"Intense," Harry offered, remembering the first time he had kissed Ginny and every time after that. It was nothing like it had been with Cho.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, sliding to the floor with his back to the door. "It was as if my stomach was trying to break free from my body. Then I," he sighed, "I got scared. Merlin's beard, I'm such an idiot. I stopped and stammered and left the room. She must be livid."

"She's probably cheesed off, yes." Harry stood and looked at Ron before saying forcefully, "Come on. Let's get you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," Ron grumbled.

Harry understood completely. He still didn't feel like eating, even after things with Ginny had calmed down. He didn't think he would ever eat a proper meal again. "Come on anyway," Harry ordered, grabbing Ron's arm and heaving the larger young man up by throwing his own weight backward. If anything would help him, it would be the company of his family.

xXxXx

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny stood in front of the fireplace with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley on Saturday morning. It was mere days until Harry turned seventeen and, though it had never really come up before, he was excited for his birthday. Being of age would mean more freedom for him and the ability to apparate legally. Harry hoped he would be treated more like an adult, but he doubted that would happen.

"All right, everyone grab some Floo Powder. Ron, you first."

Ron stepped into the fire, threw the powder straight down and shouted, "Diagon Alley," and was gone in a puff of green smoke. Hermione was next, with Ginny after her.

"All right, Harry. You go with Arthur."

"For Merlin's sake, Molly. He'll be seventeen on Thursday. He can manage the Floo Network on his own."

Harry felt a rush of gratitude to Mr. Weasley. He was tired of being more carefully watched than he had been at eleven years old. Adding insult to injury, Mrs. Weasley had let the others go on their own, even though they were not exactly out of harm's reach.

"I know he can. It has nothing to do with ability. He just needs protection-"

"I'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley," Harry assured her as he quickly grabbed some green powder and jumped into the fire before she could argue.

"All right, mate?" Ron asked when Harry jumped out of the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Your Mum and Dad were arguing about whether or not I should be allowed to use the fireplace on my own," Harry said glumly.

"Blimey," Ron muttered. "You can face You-Know-Who at fourteen, but you can't use a fireplace three years later."

Mr. Weasley stepped out of the fireplace just as Hermione said, "Well, she's got a point. It would be easy to just reach into the fire and grab him."

"If that were the case," Harry pointed out. "They would have made you go in pairs as well."

"The Floo Network is well monitored," Mr. Weasley joined their conversation. "A fireplace has to be registered. If they needed to use a fireplace without registering, they would have to be in the Floo Network Office in the Ministry. A Death Eater would have a hard time getting past Madam Edgecombe unnoticed." The conversation ended abruptly with the arrival of Mrs. Weasley.

"Gringott's first," she declared after finding Elphias Doge in the Leaky Cauldron. With Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with them, Harry didn't think they would need the added protection the Order provided. He was nearly fully grown, as were the others, and he had proved capable of defending himself. Even so, he was grateful that only one person from the Order had joined them. He would have hated to have been followed through Diagon Alley by a horde of witches and wizards scanning the shadows.

"Speaking of the Ministry, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, bringing Harry out of his thoughts. "Would you like to come to work with me to take your apparition test?"

"Yes, thanks," Harry replied. Thoughts of the test flooded his mind. "Will I be able to practise beforehand?"

"I got to practise," Ron said to him. He had taken it in June, while they were still staying with the Dursleys. "Good thing, or I would have failed again. Charlie didn't though. Everyone else took the test at school."

"It isn't difficult, Harry. You'll do fine," Hermione reassured him. Mr. Weasley held open the door to the bank and let everyone pass through. Harry looked around, fingering the key to his vault as Mrs. Weasley talked to a goblin. There didn't seem to be many people in Diagon Alley and those that were seemed pale and nervous. The seven of them piled into a car moments later with a goblin and headed through the winding tunnels to the Weasleys' vault. Harry and Hermione talked nervously as Mrs. Weasley emptied the vault, averting their eyes to preserve the dignity of Ron's parents. They were having a hard time saving money, what with all their children, but with Bill and Charlie out of the house and the twins helping with bills, they were doing much better than they had been when Harry first came to Gringott's with them.

They stopped at Harry's vault afterwards. He was always embarrassed of the money his parents had left him, but he had stopped hiding it. The Weasleys knew he had money, but they also knew he had lost his parents in order to get it. As this was nothing to be ashamed of, Harry didn't think much on it. The rickety car took them to the surface, and Harry followed them to Flourish and Blott's.

Harry found a few books that caught his attention such as _Dark Magic: New and Old_, _Commonly Used Curses_, and _Protect Yourself: A Guide to Protective Spells and Charms. _He had been buying any books he could find that might help him either locate or defeat Voldemort and his Horcruxes. He quickly purchased the books, receiving an odd look from the clerk, and asked for a bag. He didn't want the Weasleys to worry any more than they already did. They had no idea of his plans or of the prophecy and Harry intended to keep it that way.

After spending what felt like hours persuading Hermione to leave, the party then headed to Madam Malkin's. Harry and Ron had grown far more than they remembered having done. Hermione was fairly close to her same height. Mrs. Weasley nearly emptied her thin purse buying robes for her two children. At Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry bought a new pair of gloves and some more wax for his Firebolt. Heavily burdened with books, parchment, quills and robes, Mrs. Weasley flicked her wand and sent their purchases home. They made their way over to Fred and George's shop where they stopped to see a new advertisement had been pasted to the large display window of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

Why spend your time worrying about  
**Unforgivable Curses  
**when you should be worried about  
**Unstable Verses?**  
People are rhyming everywhere  
with the newest addition to our line of trick candies!

Also try our  
**Skiving Snack boxes!**

"Skiving..." Mrs. Weasley read. "If I'd've known..."

Ron and Ginny made odd coughing noises as they stepped into the shop. It wasn't nearly so crowded as it had been the last time Harry had been there, but it seemed like the Weasley twins were doing fairly well for themselves. The walls were lined with shelves full of brightly coloured boxes and bags. Cleverly rhymed lines promoted the variety of goods for skiving off classes, daydreaming in them, turning your friends into assorted animals and objects and wreaking havoc in school. _Want to knock off your socks? Try our Basic Blaze Box!_ one read, followed by _Conversation you want to hear? Simply use Extendable Ears!_ and _If class is passing slow as a sludge, get out of it with Fever Fudge!_

People congregated in the centre of the shop, much as they had in the Gryffindor common room years ago, to witness the twins' display of their skiving aides. George ate the orange toffee with a flourish and passed out like he had been hit by an invisible hammer. Fred, narrating all the while, popped the purple half into his brother's mouth and George was up in seconds.

"The purple half's the antidote, but if no one puts it in your throat, it takes some time this man admits, but you'll be up in thirty minutes!" Fred proclaimed poetically. "So hurry now, don't delay. Buy a fainting fancy today. But if it's rhyming you need worse, why not try an Unstable Verse? George slipped me one earlier, the jerk. As you can see, they really work. It will wear off soon, I pray. I have been rhyming like this all day."

Fred and George were not put off in the slightest by the fact that they didn't sell many of their Fainting Fancies. A clerk stood by the door and passed flyers to the more eager consumers advertising the fact that they had a mail order service. Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head in disapproval while George dusted off his robes. He began ringing up a few purchases as Fred rushed over, dragging a woman behind him.

"Mum, the girl I told you about, she's the one," Fred said. "I'd like you to meet Angelina Johnson."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Angelina said, blushing. "Hi, Harry. I hear you're Quidditch captain now. And Ron and Ginny are on the team too?"

Harry nodded. "Are you working here now?" he asked.

"No, no," she said with a smile. "I'm actually an assistant editor at the Daily Prophet."

"Angelina and I are dating. It's been a while, not just a fling."

"Oh, my!" Mrs. Weasley's smile increased tenfold.

"Isn't there and antidote for all this rhyming?"Angelina exclaimed with a laugh.

"We haven't developed one just yet," George told her, coming back from the register. It'll wear off soon, though, don't you fret."

"You taken one, no doubt," Fred said, looking at his brother in astonishment.

"Not at all, I felt left out," George replied. Everyone had a hearty laugh.

"Why are they called _unstable_?" Hermione asked.

"I thought that would have been apparent," Fred said.

"There's no way to stop until it's been spent," George finished. Mrs. Weasley began talking with Fred and Angelina, inviting them to dinner.

"You'd think by her reaction," said George to Harry and the others, who were hanging behind. He was gesturing to his mother. "That they had just announced their engagement."

"Hullo, George," said Harry. "How's business?"

"Brilliant!" George exploded.

"That reminded me," Ron accused, his ears going pink and eyes narrowing. "You sold me that spell-check quill last year-"

"Ah yes, I wondered when we'd be hearing about this."

"Wasn't it just a faulty charm?" Hermione whispered to Harry.

"No," Harry answered. "It had been doing that the whole year. All his books said _Property of Roonil Wazlib._"

George and Ron were still arguing, the former determined to show his younger brother the hilarity of the situation.

"You got me a 'T' on my Charms essay!"

"Don't worry," George said with enthusiasm. "If the Ministry won't take you, you can work for us. We'll let you try out the experimental stock."

"You most certainly will not," Mr. Weasley said rounding on them. "If your mother heard that-"

"Heard what exactly?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Nothing, Molly," Mr. Weasley assured her.

"We'd best be off," Mrs. Weasley said, turning to Fred and George.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny paid for their purchases. Harry tried to, but the twins wouldn't hear of it. Finally, they exited the shop and the large door closed behind them with a jingle.

"Arthur, would you take Harry while we go and get something for his birthday?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"You don't have to-"

"Nonsense, Harry. It's no trouble at all, dear. I'll meet you back at home."

Mr. Weasley and Harry apparated into the garden together. They walked up the the Burrow and opened the door, stepping into the dark house. "Butterbeer, Harry?" he asked, pulling two dusty bottles out of a cupboard.

"Thanks," Harry replied, taking a bottle and cleaning it on his sleeve. They took seats by the cold fireplace in the other room.

"I see you and Ginny are getting on again."

"Yes," he said. He opened the bottle and took a drink.

"Glad to hear it. It's often hard to be friends with someone you've dated. Especially if you still love them," he said with a knowing smile.

Harry sputtered a bit in his drink, not liking where this conversation was headed. "I don't think it's a matter of-"

"Harry, you're a talented and clever wizard, but if there's one thing you can't do, it's hide your emotions."

Harry thought it over and grudgingly decided he wouldn't be able to deceive Mr. Weasley. Not this time, anyway. "I love Ginny," he admitted, turning pink, "but we can't be together."

Mr. Weasley, to his credit, nodded. "You're trying to protect her. That means a lot to me, Harry." He took a deep drink. "But you can't deny your feelings. You're going to make yourself ill."

"Well," he started. "If circumstances were different..."

"Yes?"

"That is to say, I'd like to-"

"We're home!" Mrs. Weasley called as she stepped out of the fireplace in the kitchen. Harry jumped and turned around to see that Ron, Hermione and Ginny had clearly been eavesdropping. "What's going on?" Mrs. Weasley asked coming in to the living room. "Arthur, stop tormenting the boy, will you?"

"Sorry, dear."

"Come and help with dinner," she said, shaking her head and smiling as she returned to the kitchen.

"Five days," Harry muttered as he and Ginny sat peeling carrots by hand minutes later. "Five days from now I can finish this in seconds with my wand."

"Lucky you," Ginny grumbled. "I've still got another year."


	5. The Seventh Month Dies

Harry Potter and the Rings of Ceangal Fala

Chapter Five

The Seventh Month Dies

Days always passed quickly when Harry was staying at the Burrow, but the remaining days until his birthday veritably flew by. Mr. Weasley woke him early on the first morning of his seventeenth year. Harry showered and shaved, trying all the while to rub the sleep from his eyes. He dressed, throwing a pair of black robes over his Muggle clothing, and walked downstairs. Now that he was fully awake, the reality of the test he was to take hit him. Since waking he had been growing more and more nervous, wondering if it was reasonable to expect someone to Apparate successfully when they hadn't attempted it in months. It must have been reasonable, though, since many others had done it before him.

Mr. Weasley handed him a stack of buttered toast and Harry took it, though he didn't think he would be able to eat it. "We'll take the Underground," Mr. Weasley told him. He added with a smile, "If all goes well, we'll be able to Apparate home."

The trip to the Ministry of Magic was long and uneventful. Despite the fact that it was late July, there was a chill in the early morning air. Harry, glad for the robes that shielded him from the wind, thought the trip went more smoothly than it had the last time he had travelled to the Ministry with Arthur Weasley. The older wizard was still very talkative, asking questions about Muggles and their devices.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley inquired in a tone all too audible for Harry's comfort. "What are those ridiculous earmuffs that young man is wearing?" People turned to stare at the man with ginger hair as Harry saw the boy with earphones who was tapping his foot in time with a beat they could not hear."They don't look as if they could keep his ears warm at all."

"Those are headphones, Mr. Weasley," he answered in a hushed voice. "They play music for the person wearing them."

"Ah, I see. A genius invention."

The two of them left the Underground and walked the short distance to the seemingly abandoned building of the Ministry. They stepped into the telephone box, which was a bit more cramped than the last time Harry had been there due to the sizable difference in his height. Harry picked up the receiver and dialled _six, two, four, four, two._

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," stated the same witch as had in Harry's fifth year. "Please state your name and business."

"Arthur Weasley, Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects."

"Harry Potter, Apparition Test," Harry said tentatively. He had expected Mr. Weasley to speak for him as he had two years previous.

"Thank you. Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes." The younger of the box's two occupants pinned the badge to his robes as they descended. "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

Harry put his hand against the glass of the box to steady himself. He couldn't see a thing. What little toast he had managed to eat was making such a fuss in his stomach that he was beginning to wish he hadn't eaten anything at all. Finally they came to a halt.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day," the witch informed them in a nondescript manner. Harry smirked, slighted by the automated message; it wouldn't be a pleasant day if he didn't pass the test. Stepping into the Atrium, the memories of his last encounter in the Ministry burned in the back of his skull. He shoved them off before noticing the statue central to the room had been replaced. It was now only a witch and a wizard both with their wands pointed to the sky and, much like before, a fountain erupting from the tip of each wand. He thought it better because it was more plausible. Perhaps, though, it was too optimistic to believe the wizarding community had realised more magical creatures despised wizards rather than adored them. It was more likely they simply did not think them important enough to warrant a sculpture.

Harry followed Mr. Weasley to the security desk, flattening his hair over his scar, where his wand was inspected. "Good luck," said the man as he handed back the wand and gestured to the badge, which read _Harry Potter, Apparition Test. _

"Thanks," Harry answered, glad the man hadn't asked about his scar or any other such things. He didn't care to have other things on his mind when he had to concentrate. The two wizards stepped onto the lift, along with two witches and another wizard. This time, Harry was careful to cover both his scar and his badge.

"Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, Official Gobstones Club, and Ludicrous Patents Office."

"Good morning, Mafalda," Arthur piped up after the other two occupants left through the doors. "How's the family?"

"Oh, just dreadful," she replied, clearly relieved and delighted to make conversation. "Anthony came home ill last week. Just as he was getting better, he's given it to his father. If it was any other time of year, it wouldn't be so disastrous, but summer is the most hectic for us."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"What time is my appointment?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the witch eying his badge suspiciously.

"Seven o'clock," came the reply as Arthur glanced at his watch. "You should be right on time."

"Level Six, Department of Magical Transport, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and Apparition Test Centre."

"Here we are," Mr. Weasley said and squeezed his way past a rather large wizard and off the lift. Harry followed him down the hall to a door upon which the sign _Apparition Test Centre_ hung.

"Good luck! When you're done, I'll be on level two." The older man went back to the lift, leaving Harry alone outside the door. His stomach getting even tighter, he knocked on the door. A young witch opened it and ushered him into a waiting room.

"Harry Potter!" she squealed as though she had been waiting for this moment since the appointment had been made. "Do you remember me? Patricia Stimpson."

"Er- yes. You were in Gryffindor, right?" If he remembered correctly, she was happy to see anyone so long as he or she could carry on a conversation. He thought he just might get out of this without any questions about Voldemort.

"Yes!" she sang, clearly delighted he remembered her. Her blonde hair was tied up in an intricate knot of sorts, no doubt a style requiring a wand and help from at least one other person. Her brown eyes shone with excitement. "Nervous?" she inquired. "I know I was when I first took the test. Nearly went bonkers. It took me five tries to get it right."

"A little," he admitted, recalling she supposedly had a breakdown during O.W.L.s. Of course, the information of Fred and George Weasley was not known for its accuracy, so he could not be sure.

"It's nothing," she confided despite her previous confession and chuckled a bit. "Of course, it shouldn't be anything for you after all you've done." Harry didn't have anything to say to that. People always acted as if he was infallible, but it wasn't something he appreciated. Sure, he'd done some amazing things, but that didn't mean he didn't get nervous over tests or the like. She sensed his hesitance to reply and changed the subject, "Well, let's see then," she prodded, sitting at her secretary's desk.

"Er-" he stammered, confused at being asked to Apparate so soon. "Is this my test?" he asked, not thinking about the fact that he was in a waiting room.

"No, no. You're a bit early yet. You do want to practise first, don't you?"

Nodding vigourously, Harry closed his eyes and tried to remember the three Ds, but all that came to mind was Dogbreath, Dunghead and another even less polite word Seamus had taken to calling Twycross last year. The bespectacled youth was reminded of the hula hoops that had been on the floor in the Great Hall. With a swish of his robes, he disappeared and reappeared a metre away. Patricia stood and clapped, more pleased with his performance than Harry would have thought likely. One of the several doors opened, and a short man poked his head out.

"Anyone waiting?" he asked, his eyes looking over from his secretary to Harry.

"Yes sir, Mr. Twycross. I'll send him right in." She turned to Harry and pulled him into a chair in front of her desk before rounding it and sitting in her own chair, which looked slightly more comfortable. She opened a drawer and rifled through folders absolutely stuffed with papers. Harry wondered if the filing cabinets lining the walls held records and forms and if they were in a similar condition. Finally, she pulled out a form and turned it upside do so Harry could read it as she slid it to him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A waiver," she explained. "If you splinch yourself we won't be held accountable whether or not we can put you right."

Harry gulped, but grabbed the proffered quill and, after skimming the form, signed his name. She certainly hadn't managed to ease his nerves despite her carefree tone. In fact, she had only magnified his anxiety. It hadn't occurred to him that the Ministry or the healers at St. Mungo's might not be able to fix a bad splinch. What if he left behind his heart or brain? He would be dead before they could even attempt to reattach him.

"Good," she continued. "Right through that door, then. Good luck!"

Harry wiped his sweaty hands on his robed and opened the door. Wilkie Twycross sat behind a lengthy desk piled high with papers, books, folders and dossiers. His chair looked rather uncomfortable. It was wooden and placed between two small windows. Outside, the day was getting brighter. The Muggles passing by didn't spare a glance for the seemingly dilapidated building.

"Come in, come in Mr.-"

"-Potter," Harry provided.

"_Harry_ Potter?" Mr. Twycross asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied politely, sarcastic comments flooding his mind. He was tired of the stares and second glances. It had been worse since the Daily Prophet had been reporting surprisingly accurate accounts of the events at the Ministry of Magic in his fifth year. There must have been a leak somewhere, though Harry could not think from whom it would have come. There hadn't been any reports on him or on Voldemort in months, but it had been an uneventful summer and he was sure, once the holidays were through, the papers would start the chin-wagging once more.

"Well then, Mr. Potter. Please stand on that red X over there. Yes, very good. Now, I want you to Apparate onto the green X over there. Can you see it?" Harry nodded. _This is it_, he thought. It looked a rather specific place to land. He felt his stomach turn violently.

"Very good. When you are ready," Mr. Twycross said, gesturing with his hands to proceed. Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the green X nearly seven metres away. There was that familiar feeling of being squeezed through a rubber tube as he had felt with Dumbledore, but now he had no one to guide him. His feet touched solid ground, and Harry allowed himself to breathe. He opened his eyes and quickly looked down to see how close he had gotten: only a few inches from the centre. A sigh of relief escaped him.

"Well done, Mr. Potter, well done. Now I want you to close your eyes and Apparate to the blue X."

Harry had closed them when told to do so, but they snapped back open at the instructions and he looked at the man. "Sir, I haven't seen the blue X," he asserted.

"That's the point. You're not always going to Apparte to a place you have already been, are you?"

He hadn't thought it had mattered. He had side-along Apparated several times to a place he had never been, but it had never occurred to him that his companion had never before been there either. Though, he supposed, it would be quite a hassle to travel to a place before you could Apparate there. Sweating more than ever, Harry closed his eyes once more and concentrated on a blue X somewhere in this room. He wiped his hands once more on his robes, praying he would not end up on a different level, and felt the squeezing sensation. He opened his eyes tentatively to see that he was very close indeed to a blue X.

"Very good," Twycross said, scribbling on a piece of parchment and placing it on his desk. "Well done, Mr. Potter. You have passed. You may get your license from the secretary."

Harry felt as if he were breathing properly for the first time as he left Twycross's office. Patricia was talking excitedly to a young woman as he closed the door behind him.

"I knew you could do it," she said happily and handed him a piece of plastic that looked a bit like a driver's license. His picture waved excitedly up at him, looking rather as relieved as he felt. Printed beside it was his full name, birth date, and other personal information. Patricia continued, "It will look just like a diver's license to Muggles. Just don't drive if you don't know how. You could get into a load of trouble with the Ministry. Not that you'd want to drive when you can Apparate!"

"Thanks," Harry replied warily. He left the Apparition Test Centre with a grin and boarded the lift, pressing the number two. He would have to stay at the Ministry at least until Mr. Weasley could leave for lunch since the Order was not inclined to let him travel alone, but his impending boredom didn't much bother him in his euphoric relief.

Mr. Weasley, who had been busy all day at work with robes that were supposedly as thick as dragon hide, though they turned your skin a rotten sort of purple, never had time for a proper lunch, so Harry was forced to remain in the Ministry all day. While he _was_ bored, he honestly didn't mind. Mr. Weasley didn't bother Harry a whit, giving the young man time to think. When they arrived at the Burrow, they found Mrs. Weasley in a right state. Harry didn't think he had ever seen Ron's mum so worked up. She was running about frantically cooking and cleaning, giving orders to whoever was unlucky enough to get into her way. Fred was bringing Angelina to dinner that evening and Mrs. Weasley was anxious to impress her. He and Hermione agreed that, if a girl was put off by seeing the Burrow in its normal state, she was not good enough for the Weasleys.

Ginny launched into a tirade about Bill's new wife, who had looked scornfully about the Weasleys' home on not only one, but all occasions she had been there. "It's her fault," Ginny accused, "that mum's so nervous. She's worried Angelina will be just as awful."

"She's always like this when anyone comes over for the first time," Ron reminisced. "Remember when I invited Hermione?"

"She wasn't this bad," Ginny argued.

"True, but we were twelve and I wasn't dating Hermione." Ron blushed, realizing what he had just said as Hermione continued setting the table as if she had not heard. "Not that I'm dating her now," he stumbled. "Or that I will be, I mean..."

"It didn't seem like she was that nervous when I first visited in my second year," Harry pointed out, taking into account that he was not female, but still coming to the conclusion the Mrs. Weasley would have made a fuss about the condition of her home.

"She didn't have a warning, either," Ginny asserted. "She didn't know Fred, George and Ron were bringing you home in Dad's Anglia."

Harry chuckled. Their exploits with the blue Ford seemed so amusing to him now, but in his second year Harry and Ron had thought they would have been expelled for sure. They had been so relieved when Professor McGonagall arrived to save the day, leaving a plate of sandwiches in her wake rather than allowing them to join the feast. They had gotten off rather easily, now that he thought about it.

"What ever happened to that car?" Ginny asked, still a bit put off, though she would never admit it, that Ron and Harry hadn't been there for the triumphant moment in which she had been sorted into Gryffindor as had her entire family.

"Still in the Forbidden Forest, so far as I know." Mr. Weasley's bewitched Ford Anglia had practically spit Ron and Harry out and drove off as if it were their fault that it had crashed into the Whomping Willow. Though it had later saved their lives from Aragog, Harry was still perturbed that the car acted as if it had been intentionally damaged.

"Dad loved that car. Never got to fly it though. You know, now that he isn't in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, it doesn't look quite so bad that he's got a shed full of misused Muggle artefacts," Ginny giggled.

Harry laughed. He watched as Hermione and Ron argued about nonsense while setting the table. Fortunately, most everything was back to normal. Everyone was speaking to each other with the exception of Percy, but he, as the Weasley children put it, was a prat.

Harry had told himself he would enjoy his birthday; that one day off would not be selfish, but he was having a hard time putting unpleasant thoughts out of his mind. "Why _is_ she so nervous?" Harry asked, hoping to distract himself. "It's not _so_ big a deal that Angelina is coming."

"It is to her," Ginny pointed out. "I suppose part of her thought Fred and George would be too ambitious to ever bother with finding wives. Not to say Fred's going to marry her," she added hastily as Mr. Weasley gave her a warning look. Her mother was panicked enough as it was. "But he is fairly serious: as serious as he can be, anyway. Other than that, she probably thought they would test their Toad Truffles on their girlfriends and drive them away before there was even the potential for marriage."

"Toad whats?!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, turning around swiftly to stare at her daughter. The icing flowing evenly from her wand squirted all over Harry's birthday cake in her surprise. Crookshanks, who had been eying it interestedly, saw his moment of opportunity and began sneaking over. His plan was thwarted when she turned back to the cake.

"Joking, Mum," Ginny calmed her quickly.

As Ginny leaned over to whisper something to Hermione George Apparated into the room. He wore blue robes instead of the violent magenta staff robes that clashed so painfully with his trademark ginger Weasley hair. "Evening, Mum," he said. "Fred wanted me to tell you he and Angelina will be here in five minutes."

"All right," Mrs. Weasley replied as she finished icing the cake and covered it to keep Crookshanks away.

"Why don't they just come now? What are they doing until then?" Ron questioned. "Snogging?"

"Giving Mum warning," George yawned. "But snogging to pass the time, I'd wager."

"Ginny, dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured as she placed a bowl of string beans on the table. "Would you go up and get Harry's presents?"

Fred and Angelina appeared as Ginny went up the stairs. "Hello, Mum," Fred said. He removed the arm that had been around Angelina and kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek before pulling out a chair for his girlfriend.

"Hello, Fred, Angelina, how are you doing?" Now that the two of them had arrived, Mrs. Weasley looked completely calm-as if she hadn't been in a panic minutes before. She gestured for everyone to take their seats and called her husband to the table.

From across the table, Angelina said, "Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks," he replied. It felt strange to have people gathered for his birthday. Usually he spent the entirety of the day alone in Dudley's second bedroom, eating the cakes sent by his friends and reading the cards that had come with them. Now he was surrounded by smiling people and was even more the centre of attention than he was used to. It made him somewhat nervous.

"Did you take your apparition test yet?" she asked, trying to make conversation. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable about having dinner with the family of her boyfriend.

"Just this morning," Harry told her. "I passed."

"That's great!"

Ginny returned, brightly wrapped packages in her arms. Harry, who had been about to say something to Angelina, stopped in favour of watching Ginny's hair in the fading sunlight that filtered through the windows. She placed them on an empty armchair in the corner and took a seat in between Harry and Hermione. Ron took the only vacant place, which was between his father and Harry.

"Still here, Charlie?" George asked as he spooned beans onto his plate. Harry shook his head to clear it, but still could not remember what he had been about to say.

"For another twelve days or so. I'm staying for Ginny's birthday. Then I am off to Romania again."

"I do wish you would settle down," Mrs. Weasley interjected. "Bill and Fleur are very happy, you know."

"I'm sure," Charlie replied. "I haven't met the right girl yet. Besides, those dragons aren't going to raise themselves. We've got our work cut out for us. There have been seven orphaned dragons this year already."

"I thought you were dating someone," Mr. Weasley interrupted, not realizing that information was confidential.

Cornered, Charlie flushed a bit and admitted, "Yes, but we're far from getting married."

"Why haven't we met her?" his mother asked with a touch of warning in her tone, though it could not drown out the excitement she obviously felt.

"Well, she's a Muggle. I haven't told her about magic yet, let alone thought about introducing you. I want to be sure about her before I turn her world upside down. I want to see if things pan out first."

Harry remembered the shock and disbelief he felt when first told about magic. He had even seen and done things to prove it existed, but still had a hard time accepting it. He still felt a surge of pride that everyone seemed perfectly fine with Charlie's dating a Muggle. It didn't bother them in the slightest.

Mr. Weasley nodded and asked as he buttered a roll, "Wasn't Remus coming?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley replied. "He and Tonks are coming for cake. The poor dear has been so busy, what with her new job."

Harry hadn't heard that the Auror had a new job. He was about to ask about it, but Hermione interrupted him.

"Did they ever work things out?"

"Oh, yes, and it's high time they did. They're dating now."

"Wasn't Hagrid coming as well?" Mr. Weasley asked, hoping to avoid a conversation likely to be ripe with gossip.

"He couldn't make it. Grawp got into a spot of trouble." Harry was upset that the one who had introduced him to magic would not be celebrating with them, but understood completely.

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Weasley stood and cried "Nymphadora!" before hugging the witch adorned with periwinkle hair in a bob. "Remus, how good of you to come. Come in, come in, join us," Mrs. Weasley insisted and conjured two chairs with her wand.

"No, no, Molly," Lupin said, putting up a hand. "We've eaten."

"Well, we haven't quite finished. At least have some tea." Tonks and Lupin sat down at her urging. "Have you seen Kingsley? How's he doing?"

"He's very excited," Tonks replied. "He's been working for the Minister ever since Scrimgeour took him off the hunt for Sirius."

Harry put down his fork quickly. He had expected his godfather to come up in the conversation what with part of the Order of the Phoenix reunited, but he hadn't been ready for it. Hermione put her fork down as well and Ginny turned to him. She looked at him concernedly, but he averted his eyes.

"He doesn't much like working for Muggles," Tonks continued, apparently unaware that she had said something awkward. "He's quite sick of it. He's really a very talented wizard, if a bit arrogant."

"Angelina?" Lupin asked, changing the topic for Harry's benefit. "It's been quite a while."

"Professor Lupin! How've you been?" she asked, glad to enter the conversation once more.

"Can't complain, though I'd've liked to have carried on at Hogwarts."

"Everybody says you were the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had. I doubt they'll be able to fill your shoes," Angelina said confidently.

Lupin blushed slightly and thanked her for the compliment. Tonks, who had been reaching for the sugar, distracted half the occupants of the table by dropping the dish into the string beans. "Oh, Molly, I'm sorry. I'm just so clumsy."

"Why don't we move into the living room?" Mrs. Weasley suggested. She and Ron passed out cake while Ginny gathered the presents one more and everyone took a seat. A small pile of boxes wrapped in paper was placed on the table in front of Harry, and he looked at them with confusion. It was surreal to be presented with gifts. Everyone looked at him, and he glanced across the room to Ginny. He had never been in this situation before and wasn't quite sure what they expected him to do.

"Just open one," Hermione whispered from next to him, having picked up on his hesitation. "Thank the person it was from." He nodded, having seen similar things on television, though never expecting it would be quite so awkward.

The Witching Hour was playing on the WWN, and Harry was glad for the sound. He put his butterbeer down after a quick swig and reached for a small box. Reading the card, he saw it was from Ron and thanked him before peeling the paper off to reveal a new penknife. His last one had been a gift from Sirius; it was something that did not survive his fifth year at Hogwarts. Thanking his best friend again, Harry reached for another, which turned out to be a Skiving Snackbox from the twins.

Hermione had gotten him a copy of Magick Moste Evile. She seemed to shrink away in embarrassment, as if having bought the book made her nervous. It had been little help last year when they were looking up Horcruxes, but Harry still appreciated it. Charlie, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley got him a small, leather-bound journal. "We thought," said Mrs. Weasley nervously, "what with all that had been going on you must have too much on your mind. It was Ginny's idea, really."

Ginny flushed at this. "I wanted to give you a pensieve, but…" she paused, not wanting to explain how expensive that would have been. "I hope you like it," she amended.

"I do. Thank you."

"Harry," Lupin said as he handed a wrapped gift to the young man. "It's not really a present, but I thought you should have it, and I'm sure you have the other." He reached into his shabby robes and pulled out a small mirror identical to the one Sirius had given him.

"Thanks," he said, unwilling to be reminded of Sirius for the third time that night.

After that, the night was not so focused on Harry as it had been, and he preferred it that way. He was still grieving as would be expected, and he wasn't keen on attention even when he wasn't grieving for Sirius and Dumbledore. After all, when he had heard of his godfather, he had expected Sirius to be there for his birthdays. Finding out he had had a godfather was a god-send to a young man who had previously had no family to speak of. It was cruel that Sirius had been taken away so quickly. He lay awake in bed that night, unwillingly going over past events in his mind, unable to stop them. Ginny was right – a pensieve would have been helpful, but he was willing to give a journal a try.


End file.
